


Troia Truffatrice

by YdrittE



Series: Relentless and Chosen [3]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Begging, Blood and Injury, Excella Is A Terrible Person, Excella Lives AU, F/M, Female-On-Male Rape, Sexual Abuse, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles, Trauma, Uroboros Tentacles, Violence, Violent Sex, rape as punishment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-23 20:54:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20014651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YdrittE/pseuds/YdrittE
Summary: An attempt at defiance and the punishment that follows.





	Troia Truffatrice

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, here’s the tentacle porn that I was inevitably going to write. And it’s pretty much exactly what you’d expect, because of course it is. 
> 
> According to the sample sentence in the Italian-English online dictionary I used, the title of this about translates to ‘two-faced whore’. My search history is not happy with the extensive attempt at research into Italian terminology to do with sex for the sake of this AU. But whatever, I liked the alliteration.

The house was dark and utterly silent, just like the last few times when she’d returned from her trips to meet with informants, and she was slowly getting used to it. Albert was probably upstairs again, pretending like he didn’t know she was back.

…then again, maybe he really _didn’t_ know this time. The clock sitting on the kitchen counter told her it was close to three in the morning – not a time she usually returned at. Albert was probably asleep. 

She moved up the stairs with soft steps, contemplating whether or not she should wake him up to fuck. It might be easier to overwhelm him if he wasn’t quite awake yet, which would surely make for some delightful reactions.

At the top of the stairs she stopped for a moment, tilted her head in concentration as she listened. The door to the bedroom was ajar slightly, meaning she’d be able to hear Albert’s breathing if she was really quiet. And yes, there it was… but it wasn’t as slow and steady as it should have been. Excella _knew_ what he sounded like when he was asleep.

So either he was dreaming… or he was awake.

A smile tugged at the corners of her lips. He would be quite surprised to see her back so early. Another facial expression to commit to memory, perhaps.

She pushed open the door, careful not to make any noise, surprised to see that beyond it wasn’t actually as dark as the rest of the house. The lamp on the nightstand was on, bathing the room in a dim golden glow. Albert was sitting cross-legged on the bed, his back turned to her… and on the sheets in front of him lay the syringe and a bottle of PG67A/W.

It didn’t take a lot of effort to figure out what he was doing. What he had probably been doing every time she’d been away. _And here I was, surprised he was doing so well with the reduced dosage after the first few days_.

Excella took a step forward, not even sure herself what it was she wanted to do, and saw the muscles of Albert’s back tense, saw him freeze when he heard the soft creak of the floorboards. For a few seconds, neither of them moved, him waiting if the noise would repeat itself, her waiting for him to tire of waiting.

And finally, he turned his head, let her see the unnatural brightness of his irises, intensified by the serum, the final proof she needed of his guilt. Albert’s eyes widened when he saw her standing there, flickered from her to the door behind her and then back to her, and she realised what he was going to do a fraction of a second before he moved.

She cut off his path easily as she threw herself forward to collide with him, her hand closing around his throat, pushing him off his feet and slamming him to the floor hard enough to dent the wood. He tried and failed to force the air back into his lungs, bared his teeth at her in a silent snarl. His closed fist shot up to strike her hard across the face. Excella barely registered the pain before it dulled and then disappeared, distracted as she was by his desperate aggression. He was writhing underneath her, kicking and hitting whatever parts of her body he could reach, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from the lack of oxygen.

“Stop fighting,” she hissed. “You know you can’t win.” Her fingernails were digging into his skin hard enough to draw blood, but he didn’t seem to feel it as he continued struggling.

Irritation flared up in the back of her brain, a thin red haze clouding her sight that pulsed with every beat of her heart. “Stop. Fighting,” she repeated, the words barely comprehensible. Her teeth were grit so hard she thought they might crack.

He responded by kneeing her in the stomach. And Excella _snapped_.

She lifted him by the throat and slammed him back down repeatedly, the dent in the floor deepening just a fraction every time the back of his head collided with it, until there was blood darkening his hair, running down his neck. But it wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.

Her skin rippled like water, a soft, familiar heat that set every fibre of her body on fire, and expanded beyond its confines at her command. The inky black tendrils joined her hands, grabbing hold of Albert, wrapping around his limbs to finally, _finally_ make him stop fighting.

It was only the next logical step to drag him up onto the bed, to grip him harder when he resumed his struggles, to let Uroboros prod and pull at his clothes and slip underneath them to feel the warmth of his skin with what limited sensory input it was capable of. Albert’s eyes were wide with something close to panic when the harsh sound of fabric ripping broke the silence.

“Stop,” he gasped. “Stop, stop.”

Excella ignored him. He had lost the right to ask anything of her when he’d foolishly believed he could deceive her, could wrench back control over his body when she wasn’t there. The thought alone made her want to break him to pieces and tear him apart, bit by bit until there was nothing left that he could hide from her.

So she did just that – starting with his clothes, ripped to shreds so easily and pulled off to reveal the familiar expanse of his skin, glistening with sweat and black liquid left by the countless writhing tendrils keeping hold of him. The sight sent a flutter of arousal through her, which intensified when Uroboros, following her instincts, wrapped around his cock and forced a startled moan from Albert.

This was a game he was familiar with by now, that she’d played with him often enough for him to know exactly where it would lead, inevitably, every single time. Uroboros tightened around his limbs when she crawled on top of him, held him still for her to position herself just right and take him inside with one long thrust of her hips, watching the beautiful way his face contorted. She would never get tired of this part.

But it wasn’t just pleasure she was after. Not this time.

Albert didn’t realise what was happening at first, too caught up in his attempts to keep himself quiet, to ignore his body’s reactions… until the mass of tendrils tightened around his thighs hard enough to bruise and pulled sharply to part his legs. His eyes flew open suddenly.

A few of Uroboros’ appendages crept down between his legs to prod at his entrance, directed by Excella, and a violent shiver ran through Albert at the touch. He tried to jerk away, made a shaky noise of distress when that didn’t work. “No. Not that. Please, not that.” The pleading grew more and more frantic the more insistent the pressure became, until finally the first of the bunch forced its way inside, twisting this way and that and causing Albert to let out a high, breathy cry of pain.

“ _Stop_ ,” he begged. “Stop, please stop,” and then screamed when another pushed into him, quickly followed by a third and then a fourth.

Excella watched while he writhed underneath her, vaguely aware of the spasming of his inner walls against the formless mass coiling around and through itself, pushing deeper. It didn’t feel like anything – certainly not like _sex_ ; Uroboros didn’t possess enough of anything resembling a nervous system for that. But the mere _idea_ of what she was doing to him, the submission she was forcing on him… that was a pleasure in and of itself.

“Tell me, Albert,” she murmured, stroking his face, running a hand through the messy, sweat-dampened strands of his hair, as she guided more tendrils between his legs. “Have you ever been fucked like this? Has any man or woman ever had the privilege of breaking you so thoroughly?”

He sobbed and shook his head, repeating “no” over and over, though she wasn’t sure if it was meant to answer her question.

More and more she forced on him, adding new ones whenever he quieted down and the pain appeared to have subsided a bit, just to hear him scream and cry and beg for her to stop all over again. And every now and then she would roll her hips, a little bit of pleasure in the middle of his agony. He didn’t even have the mental capacity anymore to suppress the broken moans the stimulation elicited, noises that went straight to her groin and urged her to repeat the motion.

Excella wasn’t sure how much time passed while she spent teasing him like that, pushing him to the limit of how much he could take and then nudging beyond it again and again. She had lost count of how many of Uroboros’ tendrils had penetrated him – all that remained was the vague, instinctual understanding that it was _too many_. But she couldn’t bring herself to stop.

She leaned down for a kiss, swallowing his scream when Uroboros moved inside him, and smiled against his lips. “Do you want it to end, Albert?” she whispered. “Do you want it to be over?” There was no answer, so she rolled her hips once more. “It’ll be over when you come. Do you understand?”

His breath was coming in short, hard little gasps, punctuated by sobs, but he managed to nod. Excella felt her smile widen into a grin. “ _Good_ ,” she purred, raised herself up until only the head of his cock was inside her and then pushed back down, taking care that the writhing mass between his legs mirrored the thrust perfectly, and sure enough, he screamed.

And he didn’t _stop_ screaming after that, caught between her movements and those of Uroboros as he was, tears running down his flushed face while his body convulsed in a desperate, useless attempt to get rid of the violator tearing it apart from the inside. But he was still hard despite all that, and came when she tightened around him with one final, broken cry. She continued moving, just a few shallow thrusts to bring herself to completion with him, and then stilled.

He was limp beneath her, motionless except for a steady, insistent trembling. Excella climbed off him and carefully withdrew Uroboros, which let go of his limbs and slipped out of his body to rejoin with her. It left red smears on Albert’s skin.

There was blood all over his nether regions, covering his thighs and running down his legs. The bedsheets were soaked with it. Excella stared at it for a few seconds, then raised her eyes to regard him coldly. “Get up,” she ordered. “Clean yourself.”

Albert let out a quiet whimper, but managed to push himself up into a sitting position with great effort, and then very, very slowly moved his legs until his feet touched the floor. His breathing hitched with every shift of weight. He hesitated for one long, agonising moment before gritting his teeth and getting up.

But his legs gave in immediately, and he slumped to the ground with another pained gasp, shaking all over. Excella slid off the bed to crouch down beside him, ran a hand through his hair soothingly while he started crying again. “Can’t,” he choked out, looking everywhere except at her. “I can’t. Please, I _can’t_. Please don’t–”

He thought she was going to punish him again, Excella realised. He thought she would hurt him for being unable to obey her order.

Instead, she wrapped an arm around his naked body and pulled him back to his feet, causing the sobs to grow louder, and half dragged, half carried him to the bathroom, where she set him down on the edge of the bathtub. Albert watched in fearful silence while she soaked a washcloth under the tap. A thin trickle of blood was slowly running down the side of the tub where he was sitting, staining the otherwise perfect marble. “There,” she told him, and handed him the cloth. “The rest you should be able to do yourself.”

The first rays of sunlight were filtering through the curtains as she stepped back into the bedroom, contrasting gold against the deep red of the blood staining the sheets. The clock on the nightstand told her it was quarter past six. On the ground next to the bed lay the half-empty bottle of ’67 and the syringe, forgotten amidst the violence that had taken place. Excella picked them both up and placed them on the nightstand.

If she stood very still, she could hear the muted sound of crying behind the closed bathroom door, and the soft drip-drop of liquid hitting the floor. Whether it was water, blood or tears was impossible to tell.

Albert would not try to deceive her again. And if he did, it would have to be with the full knowledge of what awaited him when she inevitably found out.


End file.
